


Those Who Remain

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - "A Bitter Pill", M/M, another "mother wants me to MARRY" fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Hawke wished the twins had survived, if only so he wouldn't have to keep breaking his mother's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Remain

"A package arrived for your mother this morning, messere." 

Hawke's breath fluttered the pages of the book covering his face. He listened to the soft rustle of Bodahn and Sandal moving around the divan, picking up dirty linens and clothes and tossing them into a giant pile in the middle of his unmade bed. Several packages had arrived the last few days at the Hawke estate: succulent peahen and fresh legumes and red wines from the De Castilacs' vineyard in the black soiled hills outside Kirkwall. All in preparation for the dinner with one of Mother's friends tonight.

"What does that have to do with me?" He tossed the book to the foot of the divan. 

"Nothing, I suppose." Bodahn lifted a heavy undershirt off a chair back and gave it a sniff. "But the delivery lad did say something about it spoiling in this heat. I would usually wait for the Mistress to return before opening it, but seeing as it might go bad...."

Hawke sighed. A few minutes later he and the two dwarves were in the little backroom of the kitchen that opened out into the alley behind the house where deliveries were made. A wooden crate sat on the floor. Bodahn cracked open the lid with a prybar and set it aside. 

Inside was a silver tin the size of a hat box. Water dripped down its sides and wet the bottom of the crate.

"Who exactly delivered this?" Garrett was having a hard time keeping track of the world moving around him. He stood with his arms folded across his bare chest, house coat open, breeches slung low around his hips. It would be so nice to crawl into the pantry and fall asleep on those flour bags for the rest of the day....

"A creamery in High Town, I believe." Bodahn lifted the metal latch on the tin. "He said it was marked as 'very important'-"

White fog curled under the lid and blew across the tops of Hawke's bare feet. He was marginally more awake now.

"Oh my." Bodahn lifted the lid off the tin as if unveiling prized jewels. Inside was a perfect circle of yellow-white, with ice crystals formed along the porcelain sides of the container.

"Ooooooo....." Sandal sucked his knuckles.

"Ice cream delivery?" said Hawke, aghast. "In summer?" 

"It must have been _terribly_ expensive." Bodahn stroked his beard with two fingers. "Your mother really is going all out for this dinner tonight with Miss Reinhardt."

"Yes." Hawke narrowed his eyes. "She is."

Bodahn clapped his hands. "Well, in any case, we best get this into the spring house before it melts. It'll go sumptuously with those blackberries we just picked, won't it Sandal?"

Hawke didn't wait for "Enchantment!" He drifted back upstairs to his bedroom with its stained mattress and full chamberpot, and prodded the mabari sleeping in front of the cold hearth.

"Take this...." he said, scribbling out a quick note on a piece of parchment and slipping it under Barney's collar. ".....to Fenris. _Fenris._ Aggregio and lyrium and bad breath. You got that?"

Barney whined. Hawke pulled a pair of ratty smalls from a trunk in the corner and shoved them under his nose. The mabari streaked out the room and thundered down the stairs, out the doggy door at the back of the house.

~

"One....last....dollop."

Fenris chased a spoon around the metal tin and lifted it to where Hawke reclined against the arm of the divan. Hawke shut his eyes and parted his lips. A moment later a cold tongue slipped into his mouth.

"Mmmm, and none for you," said Fenris, and sucked the breath out of him. He tapped the spoon so the last white drops of ice cream spattered Hawke's cheek.

Hawke bit back a grin. "Obscene."

"I could say the same for your displays of wealth." Fenris chucked the spoon into the empty container and set it on the floor. He started to get up, but Hawke grabbed his taut arsecheeks in both hands, dragging him back into his lap.

"We have a few minutes," said Hawke. There was no need to explain why he had to go. "Though, I can turn my back if you need to primp and dab yourself."

Fenris rolled his eyes. He pinned Hawke's arms above his head and swirled his tongue languidly up the sticky trails left by the ice cream, around a nipple, under a collarbone, against the rough grain of his throat--all the way to his welcoming mouth. They kissed for what felt like hours, wrapped around each other, shivering from ice cream in their bellies despite the tar between the floorboards beading in the heat.

Something thumped against the door. Fenris bolted upright, alert and stiff as a deer, until Hawke's soothing hands slid up his ribs and eased him back down.

"They're just unrolling carpets," said Hawke. "They took them out yesterday for beating."

"I did notice the house is more....decorated than usual." Fenris relaxed into his embrace. "Are you expecting company?"

"Mother invited the Reinhardt's second daughter over for dinner tonight," said Hawke, stroking his hair. "I've heard she has a sweet tooth."

~

"I just don't understand," said Mother, for must have been the fiftieth time. "Messere Feddic, did your boy, could Sandal have-"

"I should say not, Mistress. My boy's been with me all day."

"Yes, but could he have-"

"I can assure you, Mistress," repeated Bodahn, raising his voice for the first time in Hawke's memory. "He did not."

Hawke lay alone on the velvet divan in his room, listening to the distraught voices at the bottom of the stairs. It went on like that for several minutes, until Alondra Reinhardt, embarrassed, told Mother it was fine, a mix-up, she was certain the rest of the meal would be exquisite, and please, her feet hurt, couldn't they please, _please_ just sit down.

"I'll go get Garrett," said Mother. "He's been so excited to meet you."

 _Ecstatic._ Hawke tipped back a wine bottle. He started to draw the belt of his house coat over his naked waist and the mess Fenris had made of his chest hair, then thought better of it and lowered his hand. His mother opened the door seconds later and stared at him--and the empty ice cream tin--for an eternity before speaking.

"Why?"

 _I could ask you the same thing._ Hawke spiraled a finger in the air and took a sip of the wine. It was a sweet orange, and rolled smoothly over the taste of cream on the back of his tongue.

Garrett's mother did not move from the doorway. She kept her hand on the doorknob until he couldn't pretend to read the label of the wine bottle anymore and met her eyes. He waited for her to cry. The same way she always did whenever he disappointed her.

Her eyes were dry. She shut the door with a soft click behind her, and went back downstairs.

Hawke finished the bottle and listened to her murmurs in the dining room. He imagined the refrain that he'd heard since childhood: Garrett's sick, he can't come down; Garrett's got the measles, he can't play with your son anymore. Garrett now rolled over on the divan and inhaled deep the stale sweat lingering in the fabric. He didn't have to guess what his mother's bone dry eyes were thinking. _Carver would never do this to me. Bethany would never treat me this way._ Except Carver and Bethany weren't here. There was just a bitter old woman and her bitter soon-to-be old son alone in a big empty house, waiting for the other to either give up or die.

And deep down, he understood why his mother was pushing the Reinhardt girl on him, the same way she pushed all girls on him: so that she wouldn't have to be alone in this miserable farce anymore. With him.

Garrett rolled over and tucked his knees tight against his chest. He couldn't say he blamed her.

~

"A package came for your mother this morning, messere."

Hawke was halfway across the antechamber, his sword sheathed tight against his back. Varric and Merrill were waiting outside to join him on a long hike down the Wounded Coast to see about some lost Qunari patrol. Fenris was waiting as well, with a smile too sweet for this early in the morning.

He turned anyway to where Bodahn stood in the foyer beside white lilies on the table.

It would be so simple. To throw her suitor's gift in the trash, or write vulgar sentiments on the card....one for each afternoon cut short between him and Fenris.

Instead, Hawke turned his back, and wondered if his mother would ever forgive him for being her last living child.

"Let her figure out what to do with it then," he said, tugging open the front door. "I doubt she needs my help."


End file.
